Chapter 508: Blue (Patreon)

…Hollow Shade… Central District…

“Melantha…?” Unalla whispered. A shiver ran up her spine as recognition dawned on her. “You’re Melantha the Blue?!”

She turned to Unalla, her lilac eyes bright with power, and smiled confidently. “Nice to meet you.”

Unalla stared in disbelief at the woman clad in silver armor. The greatest blue mage to have ever lived, the Paramount Knight of the Jade Realm. Unalla assumed she had passed away centuries ago, but here she was, standing in front of her, a living legend stepping out from the myths and stories.

The dragonbane Krylkos looked up from his bloody carnage and saw the charred remains of Lyrak buried in the red-hot melted stone of Melantha’s storm magic. He roared angrily and charged her.

“Lack of emotional control, hm…” Melantha noted quietly. She grabbed the orichalcum shield hanging from her back and walked down the marble steps of the Ebon Tower’s round podium.

“Wait! Don’t fight that thing head-on! They’re too powerful!” Unalla shouted weakly. She tried to get up and hold her back, but her legs were limp, and refused to answer.

Melantha ignored her words and kept walking. In two breaths, the dragonbane was upon her, a colossal beast the size of a house. Krylkos swung his claws down on her, swatting her like a fly. Melantha held up her ebon-black shield and stopped the strike in its tracks. Krylkos’ arm flinched back as if he had struck an impenetrable wall.

He growled, outraged, and swung his arms down at her in a storm of claws, tearing up the cobblestone and the ground underneath. And yet, there Melantha stood, without budging a step. Unmoved. Untouched.

“Massive strength, coupled with unbridled rage and an aura that seems to drain my chromatic mana…” she muttered and stared at the giant creature quizzically.

Krylkos growled a deep guttural noise and pulled back his lips in a snarl.

“You understand me? So, intelligent then.”

Krylkos stood to his full towering height, raised his arms, clasped his fingers together, and slammed them down. Unalla jumped forward in a flash and bashed his chest with her shield. His sternum caved in with a loud crack and he flew back to the edge of the plaza.

“More durable than I thought,” Melantha nodded to herself.

Black ichor leaked from the scraped skin across the dragonbane’s cracked sternum. He looked down at his own wound in confusion; the pale translucent flesh was refusing to heal.

Unalla stared at Melantha and furrowed her brow. This wasn’t Blue’s spell-forms, not storm, nor torrent, or even clarity. This was raw strength. From a human?

“Let’s see how fast you are.” Melantha jogged towards Krylkos, slowly speeding up until she finally broke into a run. 

His tail swayed from side to side, in an almost hypnotic pattern. The black barb at its tip glistened with venom. The tail pulled back gradually, then struck out at Melantha in a flash. Melantha disappeared and the barb struck only cobblestone. Krylkos swerved around and spotted Melantha behind him, then she was at his right, atop his shoulder, behind his hind leg, she Flickered around him like Holo, dodging his every strike.

“No…” Unalla mumbled. This wasn’t True Orange magic. There was no Flicker spell. This sheer blinding speed.

The dragonbanes were monsters out of nightmares. Immune to magic, invulnerable to mundane weapons, larger than any beast they had ever encountered, with the strength to easily crush steel. Even with the power of Votum and the aid of Loh, Unalla had barely been able to keep up with one for a brief clash.

And there was Melantha, dodging every single one of its strikes as if toying with the monster.

Melantha suddenly jumped back and made a sizable distance from Krylkos. “I think that should suffice. I’ve learned your kind’s movements well enough.”

Krylkos growled at her, but he didn’t immediately charge her as usual. He unfurled his wings and took to the sky. His chest swelled and he opened his maw wide, silver flames building up at the back of his throat.

The refugees across the plaza began to collapse. Unalla grimaced and gasped. She felt as if her chest was being crushed by an anvil. What little remained of her mana was being sapped away.

Melantha glanced around at the people fainting all around her. “That’s unexpected.” She raised her hand and stretched her fingers towards the sky.

Blazing cracklings bolts of blue arced out from the clouds and struck Krylkos in the back. He shrieked and tumbled from the sky, and crashed into the plaza. Stumbling to his feet, he swerved his neck towards Melantha and breathed out void flames in a torrent of silver.

Melantha drew her blade and dashed forward. In a blast of lightning and steel, she burst through the flames and cleaved his head in two. Krylkos lurched forward and fell with a heavy thud, dead.

Unalla stared at the gruesome sight with her mouth agape. Melantha was a legendary knight, said to be blessed with magical talents seen only once in a thousand years, the likes of ‘The Great Artificer’ Parathyan himself, but this… This was more than just chromatic magic, or even life force energies.

“What are you…?” Unalla whispered.

At her words, Melantha glanced back at the sound of her voice, even from across the plaza. Her figure blurred and she appeared back at the Ebon Tower in a burst of speed. Unalla flinched but tried her best to stay calm.

“The creature was young. From the message Holo sent me, I can only imagine they grow with stronger age.” Melantha stared at the countless dead left in the dragonbanes’ wake. “We need to move quickly. Can you stand?” she offered her hand.

Unalla shook her head hesitantly. “I don’t think so. I’m sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize, child. What is your name?”

“U-Unalla. Unalla of the Great House of Noir.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Unalla of the Great House of Noir.”

“I-It’s an honor to meet you!” She blushed nervously and bowed.

Melantha smiled, “You look like her, you know.”

“Huh? Like whom?”

“Who are you?” Lady Calantha Ashe abruptly called out. She staggered up the marble stairs and stopped at a respectable distance. “Who are you, stranger?”

“I might ask the same, vampire,” said Melantha calmly.

“I am the High Priestess of Hollow Shade. This tower and plaza are under my protection. I am grateful for your help, truly.” Lady Ashe bowed, “Are you a divine servant sent by the gods?”

“Hah?!” Melantha laughed, a silvery light sound that somehow calmed Unalla’s nerves. “No. No, High Priestess, I am not. But I can see traces of Bellum’s magic within you. You are her chosen, aren’t you?”

Lady Ashe took a step back. “You can see? H-How…?”

Melantha narrowed her lilac eyes and smirked. “I have no interest in conversing with Bellum’s pet.” 

Lady Ashe glanced at the orichalcum sword and shield, and slowly inclined her head in understanding, “As you wish… your eminence.”

“Good.” Melantha sheathed her sword and glanced at Unalla, “Can you lead me to Holo?”

“Huh? Oh, um, I don’t know where she is…”

“What about little Atlas? Is he here?”

Unalla wrinkled her brow. “You mean my father? Y-Yeah, he’s at the Northern Gate, but he's not little.”

“Yes, I imagine not anymore,” she smiled wryly. “He was hardly older than a newborn last I saw him. Can you lead me to him?”

“I think so, agh—!”

Melantha scooped Unalla into her arms and threw her over her back. “Well then, lead the way.”

~~~

…Commoner District…Medical Encampment…

It took every drop of focus Freya had left to put one foot in front of another and not topple over to the side. The rain had robbed her of what little warmth she had, though she was grateful it washed the blood of her enemies off her. Or at least, she should have been. She used to care about such things, she thought. Right now, none of it seemed all too important.

The Goldelm soldiers stared at her with quiet reverence as if she were some saint or lady too delicate to touch. Gods, all she wanted was to drop to the ground and sleep. But that wasn’t smart, right? One would get sick staying out in the rain. Such things were important, or at least, that was what some faint part of her mind whispered.

She walked through the crowd of soldiers and tried her best to not trip on any of the corpses covering the street. A few voices called out to her, but she ignored them and made her way to the nearest white tent. Pushing the tent flap aside, she stumbled inside and found herself face to face with several patients lying in cots, a couple of healers, and a white mage.

“Sweet Stjerne, are you alright?!” one of the healers ran up to her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

Freya looked up with drooping eyes and nodded faintly. “...I’m fine. My brother, where is he?”

“Your brother?”

“I’m… a Goldelm.”

“Ah!” the healer pulled his hand away and hastily bowed, “Forgive me, young mistress. Master Aric is resting in another tent.”

“Which tent?”

“Uh—” he glanced at the other healer and white mage. “We’re not certain. There have been so many wounded. I lost track of anyone who isn’t one of my patients…”

Freya sighed and swayed. She leaned on Oginum for support and tried her best to not fall.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine. Just— How do I find my brother?”

“I don’t know where he is, but I can lead you to someone who does.” The healer bowed, “This way.”

Freya followed him back outside without a word and to the largest of the tents in the encampment. Dozens of men and women were running back and forth, carrying bandages, ointments, and medical instruments.

A single orc woman was leading them, shouting out orders at breathtaking speeds, while operating on a patient. White magic flowed through her red fingers and into the recesses of a soldier’s torn abdomen.

“Ahem, my lady!” the healer said anxiously.

The orc looked up, “What is it!?”

“Um, this is a Goldelm warrior, she is looking for—”

“Is she dying?”

“Um, I don’t think so?”

“Then send her to someone else, I’m too busy for this.”

The healer raised his hand, “But—”

“Now!”

“Right, sorry, Lady Skeller,” he bowed.

“Skeller?” Freya muttered. They were a minor House, known for their white magic, particularly their healing spells. She knew that and yet somehow it seemed like new information popping into her mind. Gods, she needed sleep.

Blinking away the exhaustion she glanced at the man who led her here, “Is there anyone else I can speak to?”

“Freya? Is that you?”

She turned around and saw a familiar face. “Poppy… Skeller?”

“I thought that was you!” the orc smiled. “Are you alright?”

“...I’m fine. Why do people keep asking me that?” Freya muttered.

“Um, because you’re bleeding from your side,” Poppy pointed at the gash below Freya’s ribs.

She blinked. “Oh.”

“Come over here.” Poppy grabbed her hand and led her to a nearby empty cot and sat her down. “Lift up your shirt and lie down.”

Freya complied, her mind beginning to wander in and out of consciousness.

“This is going to hurt a bit.” Poppy uncorked a small bottle of amber liquid and poured it over her open wound.

“AAGH!!” Freya screamed. 

“Stay still, please.”

The pain dragged her out of the sleeping world and back to reality. Freya looked around, taking in the whole situation. “The battle…! What happened to the barbarians!?”

“We won. It seems you and the rest of the soldiers killed the valley warriors who came to kill us, so, that’s a win, right?”

“Right…” 

Poppy bit her lower lip. “We’ve lost a lot of people. The soldiers are still outside, catching their breaths. At least, the wounded are.”

“And the unwounded?”

“There are none. Just wounded and dead.”

Freya closed her eyes. “I see…”

“Was Sylvie with you?”

“Sylvie? N-No. I haven’t seen her since she left after the tourney at Undergrowth.”

“So she isn’t here? That’s good,” Poppy sighed in relief.

“You two were close friends, right?”

“I thought so, but I fucked it up,” Poppy said weakly.

“...Friends are complicated, I’m sure when you see her things will be alright.” What was she doing? Comforting this girl? It wasn’t like her to care about such things, right? It’s not like they were friends, right?

The more Freya thought about it, the more quickly she realized this soft-faced, wide-rimmed-glasses-wearing girl was her friend.

When did I get so soft?

Her mind wandered to Kegrog’s stupid goofy smile.

“Have you seen Kegrog? Or Nora?” she found herself asking aloud.

Poppy shook her head, “No, neither of them have come through the encampment.”

“And my brother?”

“Lord Aric? He’s recovering in one of the other tents. I can bring you to him, if you’d like.”

“Please.”